


Bryn's OpenOnSunday Drabbles - BtVS/Ats

by GreenBryn



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Darkfic, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, Multi, Twisted and creepy, codas, episodic, some of them have character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-01-09
Updated: 2006-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenBryn/pseuds/GreenBryn
Summary: A collection of all the Open On Sunday drabbles I've written for the BtVS fandom. Each of the drabbles can be read alone.





	1. Looking Into a Mirror

Originally posted at: [openonsunday](http://www.livejournal.com/community/open_on_sunday/1393511.html).

Oh, and I wrote an Open on Sunday drabble...

Title: A Natural Death  
Author: Dea Brynhild Ensomhet Spikess  
Challenge: Looking Into A Mirror

~*~

Wasn’t a tranquilizer dart– Buffy would have sensed it like the arrow. She froze when Cassie fell, confusion stressing already over-taxed nerves. Looking down at Cassie’s limp body sprawled on the ground, glassy eyes staring at nothing, a sharp pain shot through Buffy’s chest. It was her mother all over again.

_NO!_ Her knees buckled and she landed next to Cassie, trembling fingers searching for a pulse. Buffy started CPR, careful not to press too hard. A wave of nausea hit as she remembered the feel of her mother’s rib cracking, but she fought it off. Had to save Cassie.


	2. Lullaby

[OoS Lullaby drabble: No place like home](http://grnhairbryn.livejournal.com/20399.html)

This is for [](http://open-on-sunday.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://open-on-sunday.livejournal.com/)**open_on_sunday** 's challenge. I couldn't resist.  
  
Title: No place like home  
Author: Dea Brynhild Ensomhet Spikess  
Timeline: As5, Time Bomb  
  
~*~  
  
"Time for bed, Zack." Trish said, shooing their son to his room.  
  
Zack tugged on K'mpof's hand, "Will you sing me to sleep, Daddy?"  
  
K'mpof grunted, and as Zack climbed into bed he began to sing the lullaby he sang every night, lilting moans and snorts soothing his child into dreamland. He continued to grunt and click long after Zack fell asleep, singing until Trish came over and stroked his shoulder. She kissed his cheek just above the iron mask encircling his face before leading him to their bedroom. K'mpof smiled as he fell asleep, holding his wife.  
  
He belonged.


	3. Poetry

3 Poetry drabbles

(This fic was first posted [here](http://spikess.livejournal.com/32618.html).)  
  
  
Crossposted to [](http://open-on-sunday.livejournal.com/profile)[**open_on_sunday**](http://open-on-sunday.livejournal.com/). The first two drabbles are inspired by Shakespeare's play "Much Ado About Nothing", which is kinda stretching the topic a bit far, but I'm a wimp when it comes to pain and those plotbunnies can bite hard.  
  
 **Title** : Much Ado About Spike  
 **Author** : Dea Brynhild Ensomhet  
 **Timeline** : Spike's being tortured by Glory  
 **Inspiration** : Why, he is the prince's jester: a very dull fool; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders: none but libertines delight in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his villainy; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. ~ Much Ado About Nothing, Act 2, Scene 1.  
  
He'd underestimated the pain. He'd gotten weaker, softer on his new diet, and it showed. Decades ago he wouldn't have blinked as sharp fingernails split his flesh, dug past muscles and fouled his insides. Now he screams as she squeezes and scratches, skin staining purple; he wishes it’d hide him like octopus' ink. He screams until his throat is bleeding, but she can't make him answer.  
  
"Who’s the Key?"  
  
"James Van Der Beek." Shiny red lips open and there's a tinkling sound, sweet and light as a stream over rocks. Laughter dances around screams as shiny red nails slice deeper.  
  
~~~*~~~  
  
 **Title** : Much Ado About Cordelia  
 **Author** : Dea Brynhild Ensomhet  
 **Timeline** : Cordy. Rebar. Hospital. Angst.  
 **Apology** : I've always wanted to use 'Flibbertigibbet' in a fic ^_^ and I'm sorry about the pairing, I intended this to be a Cordy-centered rant, and half-way through Harmony kinda appeared and wouldn't go away.   
**Inspiration** : I was born to speak all mirth and no matter. ~ Much Ado About Nothing, Act 2, Scene 3.  
  
Her parents were too busy to visit, but sent yellow roses. Someone'd removed fern and baby's breath while she'd slept, replacing it with Xander's flowers. She couldn't stop staring at the combined bouquet. Flibbertigibbet born and raised, she'd always been surrounded by the popular girls, but since Xander her life had gotten more complex, dangerous. She longed for the carefree girl she'd been.  
  
Footsteps at the door; she turns her head. "Harm?"  
  
"I shouldn’t have come, just wanted to-"  
  
"What? See if impalement speeds weight loss?"  
  
A soft brush of lips against her own. Suddenly her world is more complicated.  
  
~~~*~~~  
  
 **Title** : It Doesn't Say Spare Me  
 **Author** : Dea Brynhild Ensomhet  
 **Timeline** : Valentine's day, love spell. Xander/Dru.  
  
"Your unclebrother is a poet." she stroked his hair. "My William will love you, but he'll have to be nice or I shan't let him play." Although... she might need Spike's help. Rhythm and form, meter and rhyme, he’d decades to practice and she knew he'd write poetry that’d make stars weep moonlight tears. All he needed was the right poem; she'd found it in Kitten’s sable eyes and crooked smile. Kitten was still young: the poem's lines untrimmed overflowing tears, the rhythm stumbled over itself, but potential was there. A gash across her breast and she drew him near.


	4. Endings

Five little endings drabbles

Five drabbles, crossposted to [](http://open-on-sunday.livejournal.com/profile)[**open_on_sunday**](http://open-on-sunday.livejournal.com/). The theme: Endings.  
  
Title: **Grasp**  
Timeline: "Not Fade Away"  
Warning: Implied spoilers!!!  
Notes: The POV was supposed to be Lind's Evil!Hand, although I've just been told it could work as Hamilton.  
  
The fight is fast approaching, tingles of anticipation running through me. I'm still on edge from earlier, forced to touch her shoulder, her breasts, her thighs. Even her screams of pleasure and pain weren't enough to sate me. I have played nice for too long. Tonight, tonight I will exalt, I will reap my rewards, I will smother the spark of life in my enemies and feel their blood soak into my pores, strengthening me. The time has not come to feel Angel's dust coat my skin, but tonight I take pleasure in the only way left to me.  
  
Kill.  
  
~~~~~***~~~~~  
  
Title: **Debase the Beef Canoe**  
Timeline: Bs2, after "School Hard" but prob before "What's My Line"  
Notes: Blame [](http://prncssflutterby.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://prncssflutterby.livejournal.com/)**prncssflutterby** for putting the idea in my head. Sheila/Dalton. Sorry if they're a little OOC, I've never written either chara before.  
  
I really don't like this new existence. I was wandering the warehouse when I saw him, reading quietly. Dalton, one of Spike's forgotten minions, like me to Dru.  
  
"Hey." He jumped, pushing glasses up to look at me. Pretty eyes, not my type but he's not dust, so there's potential. And it's the quiet ones you're supposed to look out for.  
  
I grinned, he smiled, and I decided to broaden my horizons. Glad I did too, because poetry is a nice change from dirty talk when he's nailing me into the mattress. Maybe dying wasn't such a bad thing afterall.  
  
~*~  
  
Title: **Unfinished Buisness**  
Spoilers: Bs7, Help  
  
It won't be too long now. There's a tingle in the air like right before a storm, adrenaline making my heart pound. It's like I stepped into "Final Destination", and it'd be cool if not for the overwhelming terror. There'll be a sequel, but I won't see it.  
  
It's too soon! So many things I wanted to try, like kissing Mike and sleeping over at Dawn's. Dad'll stop drinking because of my death, but that's not enough. I have to give hope to someone else, because there's none for me. Our gazes meet, and I know.  
  
"Someday she'll tell you."  
  
~*~  
  
Title: **Tug** , sequel to **'Grasp'**  
Spoilers: "Not Fade Away"  
  
WARNING! This has a spoiler for the last episode of Angel! Don't read it you don't want to be spoiled! *evil grin* That said, if you do want to read it, beware because I have a seriously twisted mind.  
  
The first day, my new host washed his hands. It's three years later and assorted demon blood is being washed off of me, deja-vu.  
  
NO! I won't let it end like this! Decades of life with my body were stolen; I won't let this host die! Our murderer leaves and a stranger arrives. I wish this stranger could heal us; I wish we could survive long enough to wreak bloody vengeance on WolfRamHart, Angel, and all those who have wronged us.  
  
The stranger approaches, his face discolored and misshapen. Veins appear on skin carefully stitched together, and Daryl smiles. "Done."  
  
  
~*~  
  
Title: **Death of a Stoner**  
Timeline: Bs3, Dead Man's Party  
  
This party could be so much more rad. I asked but nobody knows 'Buddy', although if that was my name I wouldn't admit it, 'cause it's lame. Not as lame as this party, though. I did a few shots, but there's a chick-fight throw-down going on. Major party killer. Maybe that chick shouldn't have gotten out of rehab so soon. Wow, her friends are ripping her. Maybe I'll catch her later, give her a shoulder to cry on and a sympathy bone. She's cute enough.  
  
What the hell was that? Woah, dudes, you need some serious facial cream, because--


	5. Hand

Hands Drabbles

(This fic was first posted [here](http://spikess.livejournal.com/27751.html).)  
  
A few more drabbles, crossposted to [](http://open-on-sunday.livejournal.com/profile)[**open_on_sunday**](http://open-on-sunday.livejournal.com/). The topic is 'Hands'.  
  
Title: **Phantom Pain**  
Spoilers: As5, _Damage_  
Notes: This idea's been bugging me for a few weeks.  
  
He'd thought nothing could be worse than what the Initiative had done, reducing him to a pathetic shadow of himself. That torture was nothing compared to this.  
  
"I'm sorry." There'd been tears in Fred's eyes. None of the others has been down to visit, although Angel's guilt would lure him soon enough.  
  
Sod this. He needed to get out. Spike's arms were mummified from the shoulder down; he grasped the doorknob between his bandaged limbs. It wouldn't turn, gauze slipping on cold metal. For the first time in four years, he prayed for a stake.  
  
"We can't reattach your hands."  
  
~*~  
  
Title: **Drabble of an Evil Hand**  
Spoilers: As2, _Dead End_  
Notes: I'm sorry. I couldn't resist.  
  
KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL.   
  
~*~  
  
Title: **The World's No Fun Anymore.**  
Spoilers: Bs3, _Doppelgangland_  
Notes: Sorry, I suck at titles. Bit of a minor character.  
  
He'd been a writer, before being turned. Nothing published, since editors took one look at him and thought 'bouncer', not 'writer'. Sire turned him for his strength, burning every paper he scribbled on, breaking his fingers when he kept writing. The week it took them to mend properly was the worst torture he'd ever endured, and he did everything he could to avoid that punishment again. He obeyed Sire, followed orders. He could take a beating like a pro, but even Achilles had one little weakness.  
  
"Who do you work for?"  
  
Alfonse wracked his brain for the correct answer. "You."  
  
~*~  
  
Title: **There Is Nobody Caring.**  
Spoilers: Bs1, _Out of Mind, Out of Sight_  
Notes: Sorry, I suck at titles. Bit of a minor character.  
  
  
Bit of water, pinch of dirt. Mud spread over the palm of her hand, accentuating the creases and lines. She’d never been interested in palm reading, but now she wishes she knew what the rolls and dips of her skin said.  
  
Hands twisting under faucet, wash away dirt trapped under her nails.   
  
Cordettes all had perfect manicures, enamel gleaming without chip or dent. Their hands were long and thin, designed for twisting back hair and carrying the latest fashion purse.  
  
Her own were no match beauty-wise, but they wield a baseball bat with lethal force, and that’s enough for revenge.  
  
~~~***~~~  
  
Title: **Enough of the hyperbole!**  
Spoilers: Bs1, _The Witch_  
Notes: Sorry, I suck at titles. Bit of a minor character.  
  
She needs to start exercising again, but every time she plans to drop by the gym, she gets busy doing something else. There’s a candle on the desk, the scent making her nauseous.  
  
Another job interview and it’s going rather well. She got good grades, but she’s severely lacking in extracurricular activities. “This says you tried out for cheerleading as a sophomore, but no clubs or groups.” They’re asking for an explanation, but she has no answers. Psychological traumas tend to scare potential job offers away, and the burns aren’t the best conversation starter. Amber’s hands itch under her gloves.  
  
~~~***~~~  
  
Title: **Frankenstine's Bride**  
Spoilers: Bs2, _Some Assembly Required_  
Notes: Another idea that's been festering in the back of my mind. Kinda morbid. Slightly AU.  
  
He's always touching her arm, stroking her hair, rubbing the small of her back. She doesn't remember life before him - fuzzy voices, flashes of color. He calls her beautiful, magnificent, but she doesn't understand these words, doesn't have anything to compare herself to. Neither leave the warehouse during daylight; she never sees anyone else walking around at night. He says it's for her own good; she’d get sad because other people would never understand them.  
  
Their first night, she traced his scars with pink nails, clashing with orange polished toes. His class ring on her finger, she whispered "Forever."


	6. Drabbles

Drabbles

Three little drabbles for [](http://open-on-sunday.livejournal.com/profile)[**open_on_sunday**](http://open-on-sunday.livejournal.com/)  
  
Standard disclaimers apply.  
  
~~~~~***~~~~~  
  
 **Title** : By Any Other Name  
 **Timeline** : Bs1, Welcome to the Hellmouth  
 **Mood** : Light, Ditzy  
  
Ms. Murray is forcing us to read Romeo and Juliet, which is demented since I saw the movie like a million times last year. Leo is so cute! And what’s up with the weird language? Nancy swears it’s English, but I don’t believe her. Why can’t they write normal? A rose by any other name would sell way less. What if you called it a Zelo? Who’d want to buy a Zelo for their girlfriend? Name is everything. My parents say-  
  
"Aphrodisia! Did you see her yet?"  
  
"Hey Aura. Who, the new kid? What kind of name is Buffy, anyway?"  
  
~~~~~***~~~~~  
  
 **Title** : Birds and the Bees  
 **Timeline** : Bs2, Halloween  
 **Mood** : Spooky, a bit psychological  
 **Trigger warning:** Miscarriage  
  
George bought her seventeen freshly cut daisies. The next day she dumped him, crying as she buried the flowers.  
  
She asked him once what he’d been for Halloween twelve years ago. His mother had made him a cowboy outfit.  
  
She still dreams about it every night. Petals fluttering, cells in her leaves processing food from the moonlight. A bee spreading pollen across her stigma. Nine months later she buried a stillborn creature in the bottom of the girl’s restroom trashcan. Six years later she was taught the ‘birds and the bees’, and she finally understood. Doesn’t stop the hurting, though.  
  


~~~~~***~~~~~

**Title** : Specter's Gaze  
 **Timeline** : Bs3, The Wish  
 **Mood** : verging on dark. Victim's thoughts.

So fucking stupid, but she had no choice. Mother needed her pills and she was the only one left. Dad disappeared on the way home from work, little bro found with a broken neck on their porch one morning. She was hurrying home when the sun faded enough for them to grab her.

She knows there's no escape, but she can't quite suppress her rebellious streak. She screamed until they cut out her tongue; now she can only stare. Staring makes them more uncomfortable than her screaming had, but they haven't carved out her eyeballs yet, so there's still hope.

_Master: I've lost my appetite for this one. She keeps looking at me. I'm trying to eat, and she *looks* at me._

  



End file.
